


cinch it shut

by glitterforplaster (ineffableangel)



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Gen, i just figured i'd post it here too, kind of a warm up i suppose, this is really short because it was the first pjo thing i'd written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 06:08:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffableangel/pseuds/glitterforplaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fix it. Please, please fix it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cinch it shut

**Author's Note:**

> Canon-compliant.
> 
> Alternatively titled, “You Should’ve Expected This,” or, “How Could I Not,” or “I am So Sorry About This One.”

He remembers falling off a bike once when he was seven. Bianca’s fingers had been tight around the handles, her right elbow pressing into his side, the tumbling waves of her dark hair like a curtain across one half of her face.

"It’s okay," she’d assured him, when he’d begged her not to let go. "I got you. I’m right here."

There was no poetic moment; he did not think,  _she is always here to catch me_ , because she wasn’t. She let go anyway. And he didn’t even notice for the first few seconds, didn’t realise he was moving entirely of his own accord until he’d stopped. The spokes shuddered and creaked, and the bike tipped to the left with the unbalanced weight of his leaning.

His shirt had hiked up and the soft baby skin of his side had split open, all ragged edges and scrapes and his eyes stinging where he was trying not to cry. She’d helped him up, her palms warm and gentle on his arm; taken him back into the house and washed all his bumps and bruises and marks, handed him a box of bandaids and touched one simple hand to the top of his head and perched on the edge of the bathtub while he fixed himself up again.

Bianca hadn’t said anything; there was no need to. He always knew what she meant.

And now she’s gone and he is alone and every empty chair where she would’ve sat, every silence where she should’ve laughed, are like strings tugging his scars wide open again. One day he’s going to fall apart at the seams and there his heart will be on the floor, gasping and shivering and bleeding out unlived years and unuttered words and things he wishes he’d never felt and people he wishes he’d never known just in case that would fix all the snapped and broken bits inside his chest.

No one will stitch his heart back into him. There will be no one left to try.


End file.
